Page 32 of Riding Dirty

“Count me fucking in,” Blast announces.

“Same,” Two-Pump calls out. “Wedding guests are my favorite. I love a good bridesmaid.”

And that’s that. A preliminary plan has been hatched. One that gets the job done with little to no liability on our part or the owner of the event center. And the payout is going to be fucking epic.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

WRATH

Not sure I should be standing outside her apartment on a Sunday afternoon, but here I fucking am, because I can’t wait until tomorrow to see her. I wanted to come here yesterday, but I was caught up in working on the upcoming job and getting a couple of the guys on a goddamn catering crew for said job.

I start to knock on the door with my index knuckle, but a sound to the right causes me to pause. Turning my head, I look over to see Alex standing a few feet away. The door is open, and he’s staring daggers at me.

I mean, if looks could kill, I’d have died moments ago. Shifting my body around, I face him and arch a brow as I wait for him to say whatever the fuck he’s got on his mind. Clearly, he has something he wants to say to me. I don’t ask him, though. He can say whatever it is he wants to say, but he’d better get it done with because I have shit to do.

“Whatever you’re doing, just don’t,” he states.

Jerking my head back slightly, I cross my arms over my chest as I stare at him. Pretty ballsy, if I might say so. I don’t ask him what he means. I’m pretty sure I know exactly what he’s telling me not to do. I’m also sure I don’t quite give a fuck.

So there’s that.

“Just stay away from Elodie. She doesn’t need your brand of bullshit, and you’re too fucking old for her anyway.”

I could argue with him, but he is absolutely not wrong. I am too fucking old for her. I’ve also got a brand of bullshit she probably doesn’t need. But I don’t really give a fuck what he thinks, because bullshit or not, she’s mine.

“Thanks for your input.”

“You don’t care,” he hisses. “You’re going to ruin her life, and you don’t give a fuck.”

I could explain myself to him. I could tell him that I can't stop thinking about her. That she’s somehow imprinted herself on not only my mind, but my heart, too. That if I don’t taste her, I think I might actually fucking die. But I don’t, partially because it’s not his place to know, but mainly because I would never admit that shit, not to him at least.

Turning away from him, I lift my hand and rap my knuckle against her door. I’m not going to dignify his shit with an answer. It’s not fucking his to know. It’s between me and Elodie. He growls, and then he speaks just as Elodie opens the door.

“You’re going to break her, and I’ll have to pick up the pieces. We’ll be lucky if we even survive whatever shitstorm you have coming our way. Other people might be scared of you because of the cut you wear, but I’m not. I have no loyalty to you or your club. I’ll ruin you all.”

Elodie’s eyes are wide, her lips are parted, and as much as I want to imagine slipping my cock past them, I’m too busy replaying Alex’s words in my head as I move past her and into her fuck-ass small apartment.

Alex’s words dissipate to places unknown because all I can do is look around this postage stamp she calls home. It’s clean and tidy. The furniture is obviously secondhand, but she’s made it her own.

“Your fuckin’ bed is in the living room, babe,” I announce.

She hums, moving around behind me and beside me until she’s standing directly in front of me. Tearing my gaze from the bed, I shift my attention down to meet hers. “Your bed is in the living room,” I repeat myself.

“It’s a studio.”

“This building is shit,” I point out.

She snorts. “It’s all I can afford. Are you here only to criticize my apartment? Because if that’s the case, you can just spin right around and walk away.”

Maybe her words should piss me off, because clearly, she’s being snippy and a smart-ass, but they don’t. I think she’s fucking adorable. My lips twitch into a smirk as I watch her, my gaze searching her own before I speak.

“I didn’t come here to criticize your apartment, as you put it. But I am observing it, and what I observe is that it’s clean, decorated, and comfortable, but it’s small and not in the best hood.”

She crosses her arms just below her tits, pushing them up and distracting me from the conversation we’re having. My smile doesn’t fade as I start to think about all the things I want to do with her tits, or to her tits, or maybe what I want to spread all over her tits.

“I’m not going to justify my apartment to you,” she states. “Or my living conditions. I started with absolutely nothing, working my ass off to build my company and put food in my mouth.”